I've given a lot of thought recently to what matters in life; to what's truly important. To the type of gentle message that one ought to seek to convey.
Regrettably, it's too late to speak the words of soothing love that would make a difference. I don't presently expect to be able to offer comfort to Jim Kiraly or Grace Kiraly of Solvang, CA before each passes away from natural causes.
If it was possible, I'd offer Jim Kiraly, 2-year resident of 636 Atterdag Road in Solvang CA, decades-long resident of 217 Gerry Court in Walnut Creek CA, former VP of Transamerica, DOB May 10, 1933 and SSN (disclosed for legitimate and reasonable purposes that are protected under U.S. laws) 038-20-8134, these thoughts:
Jim Kiraly, you're a wife-beater, violent abuser, sanctimonious
fraud, and cunt. To be clear, not the attractive type of the
If I thought that I'd reach you, I'd phone you at your previous known Santa Barbara area phone numbers 805-459-0337 805-459-4509 805-556-0301 and 805-595-2890.
However (a) the numbers are probably disconnected (b) I probably wouldn't reach you (c) and these thoughts are simply speculative public musings and neither communication with you nor a declaration of intention to seek such communication though the future formulation of such intention is by no means ruled out.
You were a mindless and brutal type from childhood on. Low-grade ore. Fortunately, though it's unconfirmed, the timeline suggests that you may not even be my biological father.
You beat up my mother and me and you destroyed my life and erased my life savings in my early old age in a ridiculous attempt to get a gag order. It was never going to happen, cunt.
You'll not escape in death, Jim. I'm going to fuck you, alive or dead.
I've given up the idea of acquiring your remains — subsequent to your passing due to natural causes — by legal action and embedding your bones mixed with glitter in translucent plastic to create a fine and appropriate toilet seat.
But what you did, the crimes that you committed, will live on through those who supported you. I trust that the legitimate and reasonable point, a point that is protected under U.S. laws, is clear.
If it isn't clear, I'm not greatly grieved. Fuck you and I don't mean in a manner that's pleasure inducing for either of us. Your abuser ass, luscious though it may be, bears no attraction for me. I'll take my pleasure and achieve legitimate and reasonable justice that is protected under U.S. laws in other contexts.
The nonexistent Christ whose throat you shat down is going to puke on you. Say Howdy to Him for me.
To Grace Kiraly, in this purely hypothetical and quite protected musing on communication that I didn't think to initiate until it was too late, I'd say:
You were shallow, which isn't a crime, but you were reprehensible filth as well.
You lied to yourself every step of the way. You fucked over those who supported you, then rewrote history to cast yourself as virtuous.
If something that you said or did was jaw-dropping cruel or so sick that it was laugh out loud territory, why, it must never have happened. The cardboard Christ that you used as a shield was there to make it not so.
Grace Kiraly, you were more of a monster in your self-righteousness than the man who you considered the 2nd greatest burden of your life was.
We all know, of course, who had the role of greatest burden. The silly blackhat that Jim and Tom asked to threaten me said it out loud: “About Scott, no more need be said.”
The part of your life that matters, the theme and the essential story that will live on, is that you were the worst type of liar, the piece of shit that lies to itself.
You're supposedly still alive, Grace Kiraly, but close to death from natural causes. If both parts are true, imagine as you draw closer to the final passage your meeting with the non-existent Christ whose throat you shat down for decades.
You shat down the throat of your own father as well, Grace, or have you forgotten that you supported the characterization of his books of religious poetry, poetry that featured you as a girl in places, as literal acts of violence?
I have unfinished business, in a legitimate and reasonable sense that is protected under U.S. laws, with the toad Tom Kiraly, CFO of Hanger, Inc. in Austin, Texas, in that context. But today the subject is your meeting with Christ.
There is no God, bitch. You murdered Him. Your existence, the fact that you were permitted to walk the Earth, is sufficient evidence of the fact. So, when Christ's eyes light upon you, He's going to regurgitate the shit you've defecated down his throat right back at you.
Hm. I've been too subtle here. But that always was a failing of mine. Mea culpa.
To read a 57-page PDF that offers most of the story, use the link below:
The PDF is about 57 pages long. Your web browser will let you read the story online or download the file. The way to click will depend on which browser you're using.
The PDF above is most current and detailed. However, here's an alternate 32-page version of the story from 2019:
If you'd like to read about student life at U.C. Berkeley in the 1970s, the next link goes to a 62-page PDF containing that story:
Some people like the OldCoder Internet History:
It's my hope that The New Song for Twisted Time will be helpful to people, the people who are real:
There are additional stories and rhymes elsewhere on this site.
Eventually, these and other parts of the overall story may be remixed to produce two self-help books:
(a) A book that focuses on abuse of process and how to deal with attorneys. There may be sections on how to hire and manage P.I.s, how to go public, what to do if a former abuser tries to get a gag order, etc.
(b) A story of abuse in a family that managed to be wealthy, high-tech, and Fundie at the same time.